The Christmas Promise (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 2)

by Julianna Hughes

  By nightfall she still hadn't come up with a way to not break both her and Peter's hearts. She couldn't give up the child that was now hers. And she didn't want to give up the man she loved. Mary had thought about just withholding the information about the baby until after they were married. Because once it was a fait accompli, there was nothing he or his family could do about it. But that would be a lie. And it was no way to begin a marriage.

  “To think,” she smiled weakly at him. “And that is a little hard with you around.”

  She saw him grimace and knew he had interpreted that to mean she was still thinking about whether or not to accept his proposal. And as tempting as it was to allow him to believe such a thing, she couldn’t do that either.

  Her throat closed off as she stared across the room at the beautiful man leaning against the door. He was the embodiment of a Greek God come to life, tall, muscular, and incredibly handsome, with his midnight black hair and emerald green eyes. His chiseled jaw was set in consternation, and a pulse was beating frantically against his neck. His eyes were devouring her and there was anxiety written on his face.

  "About what?" he asked her.

  Unable to answer him, she simply cried his name then sprinted across the room and flung herself into his arms. He captured her easily and enfolded her in his embrace.

  "Mary, sweetheart, what is it? What is wrong?"

  "Oh, Peter, hold me. Please just hold me for a minute," she cried.

  She could feel her body trembling, and burrowed as deeply as she could into his chest. The familiar scent of sandalwood and musk assailed her, drawing her deeper into his being. He held her like that for several minutes, and then he slid his hand down and picked her up in the cradle of his arms.

  Her arm slid naturally around his neck as he carried her the few steps to her bed and turned and settled them on the edge with her still cradled in his arms and on his lap.

  "Mary, please tell me what has happened? You are starting to scare me."

  Her breathing was heavy and laborious, making it hard for her to speak. But after a few minutes she got out the only words she could say. "A close friend of mine and her husband died three months ago. And I just found out about it today."

  "Oh, sweetheart," he said and hugged her tighter. "That was what was in the letter you received today." Mary jerked; she hadn't realized he knew about the letter. But before she could say anything, he continued, "I'm so sorry. No wonder you are devastated."

  Which was true, just not the only reason she was so upset. For a fleeting moment she again thought about withholding the rest of the story, but she just couldn’t do that to him. He deserved to know the whole truth, and then allowed to make up his mind as to how he wanted to deal with the unexpected changes in her circumstance.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out and then hurriedly blurted out the rest of it, before she lost her nerve. “Just before my friend died, she gave birth to a baby girl. She also made arrangements with her employer and with a solicitor that if she didn’t survive, I was to become the child’s guardian. Her husband had already passed away from the same illness she had.”

  His muscles bunched beneath her cheek, but he didn’t say anything. Mary waited for what felt like an eternity, but when she could wait no longer, she leaned back and looked up at him. And what she saw arrested her. He was looking at her with concern, and something else-deep admiration and love. But of course, he still didn’t know the rest of her friends’ story.

  “Mary, do you think that will make a difference in the way I feel about you?” he asked.

  Oh God! His love was tearing her apart. Mary squeezed her eyes shut in agony and despair at what she needed to do now.

  “Peter, my friends were a chambermaid and stable boy with the Hurtles. They were not of the aristocracy, or even the gentry; they were lowborn servants who used to work for my employer.”

  His face contorted. “And you think that will make a difference to me?” he asked hesitantly.

  Oh God, she needed to tell him the rest of it before she lost her nerve. “My friends’ names were Tina Bywaters and. . .” she swallowed a sob and forced the rest out. “And Ommar Haddad.”

  His head cocked to the side and his eyebrows drew together. “Al-right,” he said slowly.

  His gaze bored into hers. His eyes were so close and piercing, Mary could tell the second comprehension began to set in. His body relaxed infinitesimally, and he pulled ever so slightly away from her.

  Feeling his withdrawal nearly undid her, but she had known what the news would do. He couldn’t marry a woman with a mixed-race child, no matter who he was.

  Dejected, Mary glanced away and finished the story in a haunting voice. “Lord Hurtle bought a pair of Arabian horses three years ago. Ommar Haddad was their trainer and came to England with them. And then he stayed on as the Hurtles’ stable boy.” She turned to him and continued. “But I suspected that the real reason he stayed was not because he wanted employment, or even to stay in England. I believe he and Tina had already fallen in love by then. Because the Hurtles treated him horribly, so did most of the other servants. Consequently, he had no reason to stay in England. He was a foreigner, and they all treated him more like a slave, or worse.”

  Peter sat back and gazed at her inquisitively-without interruptions or questions. So she slid off his lap and walked back to the window. She heard him rise too, but could see in the reflection of the window that he had remained by her bed.

  “Then one day,” Mary continued, addressing Peter’s reflection, “Tina came to me and told me that Ommar had asked her to marry him.” She glanced over her shoulder and then turned back to the window. “She had heard rumors that I had helped the new Duchess of Vanworth marry the duke and wanted to know if I would help her and Ommar.”

  “You helped Collin marry his wife?” he asked. She could hear a slight hitch in his voice and wondered about it.

  “Jennifer had been one of my first students,” Mary said. “Her father was a local vicar, and the old Duke of Vanworth was his patron and my first employer. Lord Collin was a second-born son and not in line to inherit the title. The duchess allowed Jennifer to study with the family, so they more or less grew up together.

  “Jennifer and I have remained friends after she left the schoolroom. When I left the Vanworths’ employment, Jenny became the Vanworths’ new governess. And then when the Vanworths lost their money and tried to force Lord Collin into marrying a woman for her dowry, Jenn came to me and begged me for my help. She and Lord Collin were in love and wanted to get married. So I gave them money and helped them sneak away one night so they could go to Scotland.”

  “And you did the same thing for your friends, this Tina Bywater and Ommar Haddad?” he asked.

  Mary blinked his reflection into focus, “Yes.”

  She could just make out his eyes squinting at her. Then he took a couple of steps and stopped just behind Mary. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and the heat of them scorched her soul.

  “Mary,” he said and squeezed her shoulders, “do you think this will make a difference in how I feel about you? Or if I want to marry you?” He turned her around to face him, and she quickly brushed away the tear trickling down her cheek.

  She couldn’t look him in the eyes, so she closed hers and turned her head away. “No,” Mary said in a small voice, “but it will to your mother. And to your family, and to most of polite society.”

  He squeezed her shoulders and pushed her slightly away. “Mary, look at me,” he demanded in a soft tone.

  Mary took a fortifying breath and then raised her head as she opened her eyes. His face was creased in consternation, but she could also see admiration in his eyes.

  “I don’t care what my mother or society has to say about our marriage. Nor do I give a bloody damn what they think about a child you and I are guardians to. It is none of their business.”

  She started to protest, but he raised one of his hands and placed his finger over her mout
h. “I am a duke, Mary. No matter how inconvenient that might’ve been in the past. . .”

  Her mouth fell open, and he must have seen the incredulous look on her face as he grimaced and shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

  “Alright,” he said with a boyish gleam in his eyes, “not necessarily inconvenient, but a bother, where my marital aspirations were concerned.” She could give him that, considering the disaster his first two marriages had been. “But the point I was trying to make is, as a duke I can marry whomever I wish, and there is nothing my mother, my family, or the ton can do about it.

  Mary started to pull away, but he held her firmly in place. “And that includes whomever I choose to bring into my household as a part of my family. So if my wife wishes to be named guardian to an orphaned child, there is nothing anyone can do or say about it.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and added, “Adopt. Tina and Ommar wanted me to adopt their child and raise her as my own.”

  His fingers tightened on her shoulder then relaxed. “Then adopt an orphaned child of her friends; there is nothing they can do.”

  His words were reigniting the hope she thought had burned out last night. But before she allowed the flame to burn brightly once again, she needed to make sure he understood just what he was agreeing to.

  Her hand rose and caressed his cheek, the day’s growth of stubble tingled against her fingers, sending bolts of lightning to her heart. “Peter, Ommar was an Egyptian. His and Tina’s baby is of mixed blood. Her mother and father were ridiculed and despised because of their mixed marriage. Their child will face the same prejudice because of her mixed heritage. Your rank cannot protect her from that, Peter. Not completely. And it will reflect not only on you, but on your family as well.”

  She could tell he wanted to argue, but even he had to know the truth of what she was saying.

  “Maybe not,” he conceded. “But my rank,” his hand slid down and covered hers, “and that of this child’s adoptive mother as the Duchess of Rollens will protect her from most of the ignorance in our society. And we will teach her how to be strong enough to deal with the rest of the prejudiced fools in our society.” He smiled and bent down toward her. “But I suspect that most of polite society will not see your child’s mixed heritage, they will only see the child as the eldest daughter of the Duchess of Rollens.”

  The picture he was painting was too idealistic to be real. But Mary couldn’t help wanting it. Not for just herself, but for the child that would be hers.

  The tension in her body melted away, leaving her boneless and with no strength to stand on her own. She leaned into him, and he gathered her into his arms. Her ear was pressed to the center of his chest, and she could hear the frantic beating of his heart. And she realized he was as anxious as she had been.

  “No more arguments or objections to our getting married?” He asked.

  Mary hadn’t been arguing against the marriage, she just needed him to know what he was getting himself into by marrying her. “No,” she replied, and heard him sigh.

  “Then will you marry me?” he asked again.

  She took a deep breath and prayed she was doing the right thing. “Yes,” she whispered against his chest.

  Chapter 11

  Peter had been existing on tenterhooks since Mary had asked him for time to think about his proposal. Actually, he’d been existing in a continuous state of anxiety since he realized he wanted to marry her. He felt giddy with relief that she had finally said yes.

  Peter bent down and scooped her up in his arms. He then carried her back to the bed and settled her on the edge, with her lively curls fanning out around her head like a mink halo. Her sky-blue eyes gazed up at him with love, and maybe a bit of anxiety. The irises were magnified by the lenses of her glasses.

  Gently he grasped the earpieces of her glasses and slid them from her face. After folding them he leaned over and placed them carefully on the bedside table. When he straightened, her eyelashes fluttered a couple of times then focused on him.

  "I need those to see," she complained halfheartedly.

  "No, sweetheart. You won't need them or anything else to see me. Trust me," Peter replied.

  Her eyes searched his and then she strained upward toward his lips. He leaned down to meet her half way. Their lips touched and a bolt of sensual pleasure rocketed through his body. He had been dreaming about this ever since he saw her standing in the outer bailey.

  Pulling back, he gazed deeply into her blue eyes and admitted that he had been dreaming of this for years. He just hadn’t known it was Mary he had been dreaming of.

  His hand slipped down and found the top button of her bodice. He worked it free without breaking eye contact. As soon as the button came loose, her hand shot up and covered his. The adoration he had seen suddenly changed to anxiousness.

  “Mary?” he asked.

  The sensual haze that had enveloped Mary when he scooped her up vanished in an instant. For more than a week she had fantasized about being with Peter this way. He was the embodiment of everything she had ever dreamt about finding in a husband. And it wasn’t his powerful body, or the handsomeness of his face that she had dreamt about for years. Not that she didn’t appreciate just how handsome Peter was, because she did. But intellectually he was everything she had hoped for in a husband. Not like the other two men who had asked her to marry them.

  And she knew he desired her as much as she desired him; he had shown her how much he liked her in so many ways over the last twenty-four hours. But none of that could stop her from covering his hands as he started to bare her to his sight.

  Mary sat up, then shook her head and swallowed the lump in her throat. She forced out her fears-or tried to. "I've never been naked in front of. . . I'm not. . ." She stared up at the ceiling and batted her eyelashes to try and stop the tears threatening. "I'm, I'm . . . fat, Peter. Can't we do this in the dark?"

  He startled and his face shuttered, then a tender warmth entered his eyes as he gathered her to his chest. His arms enfolded her and rhythmically caressed her back.

  "Oh, Mary, my dear sweet girl. You are not fat. You are perfect. Violette and Hortensia were nothing but skin and bones. The world thought them beautiful. But I didn't; I never did. What I saw when I looked at them was emaciated scarecrows, with no souls, no hearts, and no kindness or joy.”

  The ferventness of his words comforted Mary. And the adoration she saw in his eyes helped her to believe him.

  Her body slumped with relief, and he gently pushed her back on the bed. With his eyes fixed on hers, he finished undoing the rest of the buttons on her bodice. Once he was through, he peeled the material back, exposing her to his view.

  Mary felt self-conscious about the way her breasts pillowed above the top of her corset. She had always been self-conscious about the size of her breasts. Even as a girl of fourteen, she had been bustier than any of the other girls her own age. But then, she had always been fuller, plumper than most of the other girls too.

  As a governess she had learned to conceal her breasts beneath a corset and oversized clothes. Fortunately, her position as a governess allowed her to do so beneath dull, gray, nondescript dresses. But now her body was on full display for Peter to see. He was gazing at the top of her breasts, and she could see the appreciative gleam in his eyes. And despite being nervous about how he would see her body, Mary was warmed by the look on his face.

  She watched in fascination as he began undoing the ties that held her corset in place. When he was through, he helped her sit up and lowered the sleeves of her bodice down her arms. A thrill of excitement coursed through her at what he was doing. And at what she was doing. Never had she believed that being undressed by a man could be so exciting or erotic.

  Once she was free of the bodice of her dress, he helped her shimmy out of the corset and pulled it over her head. He dropped it over the edge of the bed as he gazed at her body through the nearly transparent chemise.

  "You are beautiful,” he whisp
ered. “And not just physically, you are beautiful inside and out, sweetheart. You are joy, and laughter, and light. And more than that, you are intelligent, witty, and the most vivacious woman I have ever known. Mary, you are the woman I have been dreaming about my whole life.”

  Overwhelmed by his praise, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slid to the floor in front of him. The dress slithered to the floor and pooled at her feet. Mary stepped out of the dress then took a deep breath. She clenched her hands by her side and waited anxiously. This was definitely something she had never done before, nor even imagined.

  He pulled her to him and enfolded her in a hug. The tenderness with which he held her dispelled her anxiety as soon as her body touched his.

  Her skin vibrated as her breasts pressed into the coarseness of his clothes. He nuzzled her head, and then he pressed a kiss to her curls. When he pulled away he handed her back up onto the bed and settled her in the middle of the counterpane. Then he stepped back, and Mary saw his eyes traversing her body with a look of utter adoration. And for the first time in her life, she felt truly beautiful.

  Mary’s heart sputtered and began to hammer beneath her breasts when his hand rose and began untying the intricate knot of his cravat. It unwound in a fluttering of movements and then hung lifeless around his neck until he slowly pulled it free. He tossed it toward a chair then began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

  The cravat fluttered in the air, and landed short of the chair. When she looked back, Peter’s waistcoat hung open, and he was shrugging out of his coat. In short order he cast off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt and tossed them in the general direction of the chair as well. All three missed the mark by quite a bit.

  She contemplated the garments as if her life depended on it, even as his hand moved to the placket of his pantaloons. Oh God, oh God, she chanted silently. This was really happening. She was lying naked on her bed while a man undressed in front of her. And not just any man, but Peter Hendricks, the Duke of Rollens. This was definitely something she had never dreamt of having happen to her.